


Windrush

by King_Orry



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: But also, Headcanon, JUST, M/M, Pre-Canon, Spies & Secret Agents, Training, because the show is solid 10/10, believe, or the jokes will be weird, please watch the show before you read this, pls, this is canon af like not even joking idek what to say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Orry/pseuds/King_Orry
Summary: Years before losing each other at the B&B in Vermont, Sterling Archer and Lucas Troy undergo espionage training to hone their spycraft skills. Sterling remains blissfully unaware of Lucas' feelings, and the two find themselves in a difficult situation.





	1. Chapter 1

Spring was a miserable time, undoubtedly. Clawing into the winter festivities, it seems consistently to be the most patronising season of the year. It's as though it's always sarcastically chiming the break of day with new flowers and a little bit of growing. A whole four months for those precious few who want to achieve. It's the season where lesser men make promises to be better, stand taller, or to toe the line so they can marvel at how little they have improved; all the while thinking they are finally becoming themselves.

There were no resolutions made at Extended Training. Those who attended E.T. had been vetted to be the most certain to succeed in a pool of viable contenders chosen from a list of the world’s most effective combatants. If you had made it to E.T. you would not study military tactics and formations, you would practice international espionage. The academy held very few places for those deemed worthy enough to be considered, and those that sat in the mess hall knew that their place in those twenty chairs could easily be tossed at even the hint of professional negligence. All equally trained, tested, and examined. All, for lack of a better word, equal. Aside of course, from ego. Never was this exception more obvious as for Sterling Archer, son of the infamous seductress Mallory Archer, who was, through some ill-curse of god, even more hedonistic than he. 

Sterling had the profound ability to overstep the line, perhaps it might even be considered his greatest talent. This aptness held true for his humour, relationships, sexual proclivity, and moreover – drinking habits. For anyone else at E.T. this skill would have been equivalent to a single bus ticket to Guantanamo Bay with a ball gag and schizophrenia diagnosis. However, Archer’s unique position as heir apparent to the esteemed throne of king asshole was ignored by the site overseer due to alleged methods of persuasion by his, again infamous, mother.

Sterling had the air of a man who thought, or rather knew he could survive anything. At any cost, he seemed to doubt he personally had the capability of dying, and this told in his actions. He loitered outside the overseer’s office at an optimum angle to eye the secretary, waiting for his name to be called. A manila dossier file of thirty completed assignments was folded in his right hand.  
It was an assessment day, and the files would have spoken for themselves; if he had managed to complete the paperwork.  
He had considered filling them in for the entirety of a minute before deciding he’d derisively make a point about the nature of paperwork being a burden to the life of a professional spy. 

The overseer's secretary looked up, finally realising who the man who chose to stand near her desk rather than sit down had been. She stared at him coolly and clenched her teeth as she spoke into the phone. 

“Sterling Archer to see you, Sir.” Her disdain settled in the air like thick fog on water, but Sterling took it as an invitation.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me. Or at least seen my file, or you’ve seen me. Because I mean, yeah, let’s be honest. Who hasn’t.” Sterling gestured to his body, making a flamboyant ‘look at this’ motion with his hand. The secretary glared back at him, eyes alight with fury. Her hand flew out violently, quivering with anger as she pointed to the door. He recoiled, staring in confusion at her. 

It was only when she let out a sigh of revulsion as he passed through the door did he realise he had slept with her two months prior and lifted $20 from her purse for taxi fare.  
In dreamlike trance, he wandered into the centre of the room to stand before the overseer, mulling over the night’s events that led the two together, and musing the fact he didn’t remember her face. He became so lost in reverie that he completely missed what the overseer had said. The thin, moustached man stood there now, an eyebrow raised waiting for the answer to whatever question he had asked.  
Sterling didn’t care.

“and?” Archer quizzed caustically, shrugging his shoulders.

“My desk remains only free from one file: Yours. You’re six hours behind the deadline, if this isn’t about the assignments, Archer, god knows what it is. Give me the damn file.”  
The overseer flashed out his hand expectantly, shaking his whole body with the apparent effort it took him. The recoil shook all the way down to the whiskey which sat low in his left hand. The ice rattled softly.  
Archer noticed the open bottle of reserve and quickly changed tone.

“Of course, Sir, it’s about the assignments," handing over the file. "I mean, why wouldn’t it be.”  
As the overseer flicked through the papers absentmindedly, Archer paced the room. He made a show of looking at the paintings, while attempting a deliberate route to the open bottle.

“I count thirty. That’s almost as good as Troy. You made second place.”  
Archer stopped in his tracks, his mission could wait.

“WHAT? Luke and I planned our assignments together, how could he… " he tailed off. A small frown grew on his lips before his eyes sparked with knowing realisation.  
"oh, classic Luke. Luke the dupe. Damn it.” 

“I expect you’ll fill in the entirety of these forms before you graduate. Or there’ll be no graduation. Can’t have spies running around without telling us what they’re doing now.”  
Sterling stood shaking his head at the fact his friend had misled him for a better grade, almost forgetting his prepared lecture in the misty haze of true betrayal.

“I expect I won't. Come on, do you really think I’m going to pull out a pen while, I don’t know, I have heavyweight champion of the world and hitman Vladimir Prokov in some sort of, I’d assume boxing ring based trap…” The Overseer cut him off, stricken.

“Prokov wasn’t one of your assignments, I gave that to Miss Kane.”

“…for example." Archer continued. "And really? You gave that one to Lana? Because of her hands right? It’s gotta be because of the hands.”  
The Overseer ignored his questions and looked back at the paperwork he’d been given.

“You are quite right though, you can’t be expected to fill these out in the field. Perhaps a desk job might suit you better, hm? That way you might have all the paperwork you want without worrying about Russian hitmen all day long.”  
This got his attention. Archer held up his palms in defeat.

“Ok, ok. Point taken. I’ll have it back to you by two, three, four days.” 

The Overseer looked at him quizzically with a look of sardonic pleasure.  
“Have what back, Mr. Archer?”

The Overseer walked back to his desk and made a deliberate exhibition of dropping Archer’s dossier on the top of the pile. It landed unceremoniously without a sound, a disappointing anti-climax that soiled the tense atmosphere in the room. His eyes darted back to Archer, wondering if he had noticed the embarrassing lack of flair.

“Want to try that again? Really feel like you thought that would get me.” Sterling tested.

The Overseer struck the files with his empty hand, and a thunderous boom echoed into the corridor. He would have roared had his whiskey not spilled. He seemed pained as he grunted out his words, scarlet jowls leaping into each word.  
“GET. OUT.” 

Archer saluted his commander ostentatiously and sauntered into the corridor, giving a single fleeting grin to the secretary. She shuddered at the sight of him.  
For Sterling, that was the least violent set of interactions he’d had all day, and he relished in his happy moment. His steps clicked all the way down to the end of the corridor, and then onto the stairs. His presence in the building would not be gone until the echoes stopped an unreasonable amount of time later. 

Outside, Lucas Troy waited for Archer. He leaned an arm on the side of the building, watching as other trainees rushed around the assault course with something he assumed to be urgency. Luke was never worried; his life had been handed to him the day his father passed him his first gun. He knew all in E.T. were equal, but his air of superiority was undisguisable.  
He and Archer had been an inseparable pairing since day one, and were rarely seen by themselves. They were cut from the same cloth, and for that, everyone hated them. Neither cared however, using it as advantage to be feared as bullies by the rest of the group. 

“Hey, dick.”  
Luke turned to face the insult, fist clenched. It was Sterling. He had taken the side exit to get the drop on him. Luke rolled back his shoulders. He seemed to visibly shrink away from the bully persona he was ready to enter.

“Yeah, said your mom.” Troy cut with the ardour and wit of a freshman.

“Asshole. You told me you’d do thirty.” Sterling seemed genuinely hurt by the fact Luke had surpassed him. 

“Thirty’s too easy my friend. What are you going to do, cry to mother and get her to, jack your grades up, or sorry, off?" Luke stung, noticing the way his eyes little triangular shapes when he was becoming irritable.

“Jesus, William Griggs, it didn’t happen. How many times.” Archer shot back. The vague references were the only thing Luke didn't understand about his friend. He knew he was pushing the right buttons to get in a fight, but stopped shy of the mark. He’d let him off easy this time.  
Luke stayed silent, staring in anticipation as he waited for Sterling to explain his obscure insult.

“William Griggs? The physician who gave false evidence at the Salem Witch trials? Seriously? Pick up a book.” Sterling seemed pleased with himself again, having apparently bested Luke.

“Whatever you say, man.” Luke murmured.

Sterling hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his jet black hair. "Anyway, I'm out tonight. Captain Edward Smith over there is gonna give me a desk job because I didn't fill in the paperwork."

"So what, you're going to sneak in and do it tonight?" Luke had a sixth sense for understanding what Sterling meant. He latched on to the opportunity, having to restrain himself from sounding overly eager. 

To his disappointment, Sterling looked unabashed.  
"Yeah, you know, classic spy junk. Slip in, slip out. It's what were trained for. You not going to ask, by the way? Edward Smith?"

Luke looked at him blankly, waiting for the inevitable reveal.

"Captain of the Titanic? Jesus, am I the only one that actually looks at the words when I read something?" Archer moaned, putting a foot forward and starting to walk back to the bunkhouse.

Luke felt a pang of betrayal as he realised Archer wasn't going to ask him to help out. It didn't matter though, as he would follow anyway.  
The pair ambled back to the campus while pointing at the trainees still running around the damp assault course. They’d get themselves faster times sure, but by the end of the day they’d be cold, and too tired to properly play baccarat. Sterling and Luke would make a killing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterling prepares his personal mission by searching for equipment. Luke considers loyalty and commitment.

The night came with a cascade of silence. The forest that surrounded the compound had the effect of both hiding the facility and muting the acoustics of seemingly the entire planet. Even the crickets seemed dulled, deaf and mute. The slightest pressure change in the air swirled around campus all to eagerly, carrying with it the sound of any disruption to the sombre vigil of darkness. It was impossible for restlessness to go unnoticed in this place. Archer however, went unnoticed anyway.

The problem with training spies is that they become incredibly adept at breaking and entering. Some might think that to be somewhat of a massive oversight.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

Under the pretence of being too drunk on his own pride, and Kahlua, to continue gambling, Sterling slung himself into the bunkhouse. Staggering to the back of the room, he made a calculated effort to run into every bed in the hall. He noted the weight of each of them as he went.

Finishing his journey, he slowly turned back and looked at the entrance way. It was empty, and silhouetted figures by the fire still flickered jarringly in the distance. Archer snapped back. His eyes flashed to Kane’s bunk, the heaviest. He could have guessed, Lana had the worst aim out of all of them – no wonder she wanted practice out of hours.

Keeping a fixed eye on the outside world, Sterling made a determined pace to the head of her bed. Despite lifting the mattress slowly, two ugly machine pistols seemed to spring out. TEC-9’s, Her weapon of choice. Inaccurate as they might be, the long magazine gave plenty of opportunity for keyhole aiming, even for someone as lumbering and indelicate as Lana.

Sterling never saw the need for dual wielding guns as she did, perhaps there lay the issue with her aim. And besides, why not just take a single gun and double up on magazines? Her presence at the academy had confused him before, but now was not another one of those times.

Ignoring the weaponry, Sterling peeled back the mattress further, finally finding something of use to him. He silently said a prayer of thanks to god for not having to look under Gillette’s mattress. That man had some unresolved issues.

A crack at the doorway started him. His hand fell onto the gun out of instinct, his eyes narrowed to gauge distance to the doorway. Focusing in, he could see it was Luke, alone. He eased back to his search and gave a single fingered salute to his friend before wordlessly calling him over.

Archer straightened Lana’s mattress back to where it had been before smoothing the blanket with one hand. Luke noted his hand stayed a beat too long before returning to his side, but dismissed the notion quickly. Sterling reached into his pocket and slowly raised out a small metallic multifaceted display. Wires protruded out the sides, spindling to the floor.

Sterling looked like a puppy holding it, jittering with indelible joy and excitement. The kit looked broken, battered and unusable. It looked like junk, but judging by the fact Kane had two guns under her mattress, it must work in some capacity.

Luke took it from him and Sterling rushed back to his bunk, grabbing his pre-prepared bag from underneath and pulling out a black turtleneck. He turned his back to Luke and lifted his shirt. Even in the low light Luke could see the numerous wounds on his back. Hundreds of scars from too many fights littered his back as though it were a relief map. His eyes followed it to the indisputable mark of a gunshot near the base of his spine, before it was all too suddenly shrouded.

Archer turned back around and grabbed the lockbreaker. Sterling gave Luke an assured look, and without a single word between them he left, born on into the desperate crying wish of the night.

Luke had expected no less. Archer was famed for his pride and would never ask for help, but it still saddened him that he had gone to _Spray and Pray Kane’s_ bunk rather than his. He thought perhaps Sterling didn’t want to betray him in case he was caught and had to reveal how he perpetrated the heist. He thought maybe Sterling cared about his personal area and didn’t want to betray his trust. No matter how hard he tried however, he could not ignore that lingering hand.

Even if Sterling had avoided implicating Luke in everything else, the very moment his hand had stayed idle on her bunk he had betrayed him more deeply than he would ever understand.

Luke looked down at the ground with forlorn disgust. His chest had clenched at the very mention of Lana and Sterling together back when the rumours first started, and now he had seen it. It felt as if all the air in his lungs had become cement; as though the pressure in the room had multiplied by the thousand; as though he were a dead man coming back to life.

Luke’s eyes whipped back to the door, sparking with new energy. He would not let it happen, this was their destiny, and he knew it. There were too many signs. This would be the night he told him.

He ran to his bunk and fished under the mattress for his lock picking tools, his hand brushing into the paper that also lay under there. Luke didn’t notice the pain. The adrenaline had already set in and he was halfway to the Overseer’s office before he saw the thin trail of blood on the back of his hand. He wiped it off on the side of his jeans as he ran, exposing the open cut to the air. Mingling new blood with the scent of the early morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two. I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote half of this, so it's probably replete with mistakes.  
> It's a lot shorter mainly as I want to be writing the main heisty bits in their own chapter.  
> Also I think I changed the style somehow? don't know how that happened.
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed as per.  
> Constructive criticism is always welcome here.
> 
> Y'all are some nice people.  
> Love u and have a great week :D


	3. Chapter 3

The campus office was an uncomfortable building. The crimson brick and marble gargoyles pressed a look that tried to imitate both the pomp and power of an English country manor and the soulless face of a manufactory. The trees of the forest took siege outside its walls, protesting the very presence of this monument to bad taste. And yet it loomed, trying to strike fear into the subjects that both outnumbered and outgrew its shadow.

The moon held wake in the centre of the sky. The soft light painting long, branched silhouettes into the fresh cut grass that ebbed like the tide in the subtle night wind. A dark figure grew on the lawn, wading between the limbs of the shadowed forest as though stalking a noiseless and uncatchable prey.

Archer stood now, simultaneously at the foot of the woods and the back of the offices, studying the brickwork and ornamentation. Powder blue eyes flitted across the wall, scanning for grips and holds, gastons and crimps. Any imperfection can be exploited for the gain of those with the knowledge to succeed.

Settling on a route, Archer swept a final cautious look back into the woods, hedging his career on the success of this one endeavour. Nothing but the trees shifted in the cold breeze, the wind ran dry and chillingly into his core. He could begin.

Archer took a step back and ran at the face of the wall, kicking off an exposed hunk of cement foundation, propelling himself upwards. His right hand latched on to a high errant brick, the fingers of his left scrambling into a small gap in the mortar. Archer let out a breathy hiss of discomfort. His starting grip was painful, and tenuous at best. His legs dangled paralytic below him, he had barely made it five feet off the ground and he was already struggling.

Darting his eyes to the next hold, he began to slowly swing his entire body back and forth. His fingers burned, his shoulders were alight. Letting go at the apex of the swing he threw himself right, slamming his palm into the wall above him, clawing his nails on the hard clay, until he latched again. Grating against brick and stone, grazing the cut angles of his face on the harsh surface. He felt warm blood melt down his cheek and pool uncomfortably on his chin.

This grip was better, though his entire upper body was an inferno of intolerable pain. Archer swung his legs around, kicking against the wall to find his previous hold. He wedged himself between the two, taking slight pressure away from his hand as he lay horizontal on the side of the wall. He could now slowly pull himself up onto the exposed brick.

A light turned on in the distance. Far enough away to be of no bother to Archer, but making him weary of the fact others were restless on the site.

The window above him now was tentatively within reach, the end to his suffering. Waiting for a beat to catch his breath, Archer looked out into the wood he had emerged from. The new leaves danced like pale tears of flame in the moonlight, and two embers shone back at him. Luke tried to stay hidden, but he knew Archer had noticed him.

Sterling ignored his friend, Luke’s presence endangered his position. Two flies would be caught in the same honey. In a single swift movement, he scaled the last leg of his ascent, and crouched perilously on the high window ledge. He peered into the glass which he had looked out of just hours prior, his bloodied nails digging under the wooden frame. It slid upwards with a faint groan, the previously undone chain rattling against the glass. Opening it fully, Archer ducked under the frame and vanished into the room.

Luke looked on aghast, his soulmate had just blanked him. Worse, he had been dismissed. His brow furrowed into angry scorn. He looked at the wall which Archer had scaled, more irritated than impressed with the twenty-foot vertical climb. Sterling’s ignorance had the same effect as dousing Luke with cold water. He looked down at his clenched fist, the fresh cut bled openly with the pressure he put into his grip. Thin red rivers and estuaries ran along the back of his hand and between the gaps of his fingers. The closed paw shook with visceral fury, shame and self-loathing until it was wet and warm with his own blood.

A leathery crack whipped Luke out of his trance and echoed into the forest from above. Luke ducked behind a nearby tree and peered out from behind, looking up to the window where Archer had found his entrance. His eyes caught the glare of the reflected moonlight on the glass, temporarily blinding him. Squinting hard, he finally noticed a dark figure stared back in bemusement, a bottle of uncorked Glengoolie Blue in hand. Archer raised an eyebrow to Luke and turned his palm upward, wordlessly asking Luke what the fuck he thought he was doing standing around.

Luke came out from the behind the tree and the gazed up at Sterling, noting that each detail of his face was emboldened by the dim light. His open-mouthed smirk was a mess of heavy cuts, the lines of his face interlaced with tracks of dirt and crimson, the veins in his neck were taught against the skin. His hair was thick and mussed from the toils of his climb. Archer ran his hand through it now, impatient.

Luke was no longer present; in the place where he stood was obsession uncontained and uncontrollable. Borne into this world by ravenous, animalistic longing and greed.

Roused as though from a deep sleep was primal desire incarnate. Lust and want lay heavy in the air around him, palpable. Physical.

Luke did not want Archer, he _needed_ Archer. All notions of civility and normalcy had the door slammed on them. This was not going to be the night he told Archer, this would be the night he took him. It would be right.

Sterling looked down at Luke, confused. His friend had been off for some time now. He knew Luke was jealous of the attention he’d been giving Lana, and rightly so. The two were close to tying up a relationship, and if they started dating Luke would no doubt be pushed out. Archer knew he’d still find time for his friend, but Luke obviously felt threatened enough to follow him out on this idiotic mission to change his file and steal the whiskey.

He still stood there, transfixed. Archer started to wonder if maybe there was more to Luke than he’d ever let on, but quickly dismissed the notion. It was his Luke, there was no way. It was wrong. He bridled at the thought and took a slug of the whiskey.

Placing the cork back into the neck of the bottle, Sterling weighed the bottle in his hand tentatively. He held it out the window and tossed it down to Luke, who caught it in one hand instinctively before the light faded and left altogether as a cloud shrouded the moon in a dark cowl.

Archer turned back to the task at hand. The file.

The new darkness made it difficult to assess distance, but Sterling made a marked effort to trace his steps back to the desk. Finding it only by cracking his knee into it’s corner. Archer let out a moan of pain, followed by a carefully chosen curse.

Holding his knee with one hand, he used the other to feel around the edges of the desk until he found the thumbprint scanner and code lock on the bottom drawer.

Sterling took out his stolen tech and began assembling the ancient kit, unscrewing the front panel of the lock with a miniature screwdriver.

With the wires in place, Archer flicked the switch on the side of the codebreaker and watched in awe as it lit up, radioactive green, displaying tiny numbers which displayed on the screen for only a fraction of a second.

The drawer popped open with no ceremony. No red light or little voice to chirp “code broken!”. Archer was unexpectedly heartbroken that the little piece of history had so little character, he thought he might bond with it.

Grabbing his file from the top, Sterling looked around the room one last time. He might be back here soon enough. Deciding better than to trash the overseer’s office he reattached the front plate on the drawer and went back to the window.

Luke still stood outside, now leaning against the wall, staring at the rim of the bottle. Archer clicked his fingers to get his attention.

An alarm screeched and red lights flooded the inside of the room. Lights began to turn on down the corridor and across campus.

Sterling froze for a single second, eyes widening in shock and fear.

He looked down at Luke, who was having a similar reaction.

Archer chucked his file out the window, and threw out an arm, pointing to campus.

“RUN, NOW!”

Luke scooped up the file and bolted into the woods.

Sterling vaulted the window expertly, taking care not to leave bloodied handprints on the white wood, but landing on his bad knee.

His leg gave way and the cold ground rushed in close, with open arms in the form of an outcrop of concrete foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here's chapter 3,  
> I really enjoyed writing this, don't know why. Just got into the swing of it I guess.
> 
> Edit 12/02/17: Also pre-warning: the tags and warnings will have to change before next chapter is posted. Hope that doesn't ruin your reading experience, but naturally (as you can probably tell, and if you have seen the show) it's the way the story is going. Sorry!
> 
> See y'all soon


	4. Chapter 4

From the east, a cold wind rushed past Luke, waves of electricity pricked his back with miniature pins until a cold judder worked its way down his body. His feet landed firmly with each leaping stride of his run, making hushed wet snaps on the ground. The trees dashed red and black with the light of the alarm. Red and black _,_ a few more yards of distance. Red and black, a few more yards. Red and black.

_The train smoked into the station. A family of four rushed to the ticket office. A woman held hands with a young man. A waitress in the café carried two glasses on a tray. A small boy sat on a bench out of view waiting for his father._

The trees opened to a clearing, but Luke could still hear the alarm. He could wait for Archer here, there was no other way out. He looked back to the way he came, the canopy of the forest glowed. Red and black.

_The train came to a halt, heavy white smoke settled low near the ground._

Luke stood in the clearing, waiting. Sterling should be two minutes behind him. The wind cried as it swept through the boughs of the trees. A leaf caught in the updraft floated high above, pirouetting as it made slow descent to the fresh frosted earth. It spun a winding trail across the sky as it fell. Red and black.

_The family took their tickets and walked to the train._

His watch counted down, the seconds falling one after the other, until finally the time came. But Archer did not appear through the shrubs. The sound of frantic escape did not echo into the clearing. Luke was alone.

Without hesitation, he dropped the bottle and violently kicked off back into the woods. His feet met hard with the ground, and his head ducked low into his body as he bore full sprint back to the office, Sterling’s prize tucked beneath his arm. Air swirling in his ears, he no longer heard the drone of the alarm. He cast his gaze shakily to the ground, seeking out exposed roots and dips, jumping far over them like the giants of Olympus.

A bright bolt struck his eyes. A searchlight had been turned on from one of the towers. Blinding white and cold.

Luke ran on. The trees, harrowing now, whipped and cracked into his face, thin claws reaching and scratching for his eyes. Luke held up an arm, protecting his face, his feet tripping on the tendrils of a vine. He spun and rolled onto his back, breaking no momentum and pressed on, until the forest stopped. There was no ebbing or gradient, the trees ended just before the wall. In the mud a pitch shadow lay twisted gruesomely. Limbs tucked beneath core, the figure was hunched on its back loosely, head askew as though confused and whimpering. The crumpled heap of flesh and heaved slowly and laboriously. The cavity of Sterling’s chest groaned with the strain of living. The great mass of muscle now pressed down on him, crushing his body with the weight of Atlas’ burden. This was a man that should by all rights be dead.

_The woman let go of her lover and watched his back turn to leave._

Luke took a step forward, smoke drifting from his lips in a thick cloud. He knelt at Sterling’s shoulder, saline stinging the rims of his eyes, blurring his vision. Luke ran a hand through Sterling’s hair, pushing loose strands away from his closed eyes. It came back soaked, dark and crimson.

His eyes blistered with pain as he looked down on the face he had so often admired; so often laughed with; so often sought comfort from the gaze of; so often loved.

He bent down close, holding an ear close to his lips, which whispered a strained breath in response. Luke turned his head, holding a hand behind Sterling’s ear, pulling him closer, raising the broken body upward and into his arms as he leaned down for a slow parted kiss. A kiss he had yearned for, but one for a dying man. The searchlight faded into the distance, but Luke remained in passionate embrace, until finally he bowed his head, nestling into the crook of Archer’s shoulder as he breathed out a lament.

“Never, Sterling. Never again.”

Luke pressed his forehead against Archer’s. Cupping his face with his hands. He gave another lingering caress to his brow, before hulking the mass onto his shoulder with great effort. He winced at the weight that now set him off balance as he made cautious footsteps back into the wood. Moving him could kill him, but leaving him was worse.

_The waitress slipped and dropped the two glasses, shards of crystal scattered across the floor of the café. Glittering and scintillating like gold dust._

They should have been caught by now. This was a fact. Luke had been there too long and could not see his watch for the way he held Archer, but knew that at least ten minutes had passed. The alarm was not for them, but had almost killed Sterling regardless.

Luke made slow progress back to the campus, taking every precaution to avoid any danger underfoot. They reached the clearing as the moon began to close near the edge of the sky, but it would not be dawn for a long time. He stooped to pick back up the bottle on the floor, which to his surprise had a fair amount left. He pushed on, swigging long gulps from his free hand to dull the pain on his shoulder and beneath his feet.

Mud and forest floor gave way to gravel path and sweet relief after fifteen minutes. Luke relished the comfort audaciously, letting out a loud relieved sigh as his pain was ended.

He stood still for a hesitant moment and looked at the stars, resting his head on the back of Archer’s, forgetting the weight and pretending they were lovers on a night-time stroll. He took in his cologne, imagining the dark scent on him; with him.

He shook himself awake, now was not the time.

He took up the bottle again, taking down the last dregs of nectar, before tracking the path back to its destination, the gym and locker rooms. Concentrating hard on anything other than the broken man on his back.

Struggling with one hand he punched in his personal number on the keypad and opened the door, carefully minding Archer’s head not to be hit against the frame, before making the final effort back to the changing rooms.

Luke lay Archer down on the wooden bench, stroking the hair from his eyes once again, losing himself in the mass of jet black. His eyes were closed, he could almost be sleeping. He released his hand and went to look for first aid, turning on and off the lights as he went.

He returned quickly with a small green box, he placed himself on the bench and pulled Sterling on his knees. Opening the box, he squinted in the dark to find the bottle of iodine, unscrewing the to pour an indecent amount onto the side of Archer’s head. His patient did not respond.

Luke bowed his ear back to Archer’s mouth. He was still breathing, but could not feel anything.

An evil thought seeped into Luke’s mind, thirsted by pain and want. He widened his eyes and held a free hand to his temple. Never.

His eyes drifted back to Sterling lazily. His hand dropping from his temple to Archer’s chest. He felt his breath through the cotton, slow and pained undulation. He left a fleeting kiss on his cheek. He would not sully their relationship with his own selfish desire. His fingers spread over the muscle that lay beneath, stroking the toned body, finding the pulsation of the slow but steady heartbeat. His lips glided across to Sterling’s again. His free hand caressing the body beneath. His chest was hard cut, both flesh and stone at once, a statue of a god. Was it so awful really? He had saved his life.

His hand stroked further down, flesh that was stone. Like art. Perfection sculpted from clay, until he met the hem of Archer’s top. Luke breathed out heavily. His face lingered just slightly above Sterling’s, feeling the heat of his breath flowing into his face, smelling the hint of whiskey on his breath.

Luke pushed further still, finding something to seize. His eyes narrowed and he pulled his head away. His hand coming back and finding grip on Archer’s belt buckle. Luke’s hand fell away from his face, coming to assist as drew at the waistband of his pants. Clearly, he wasn’t completely unconscious as Luke found his place again.

He stared lustfully and madly into the closed eyes. The long, laboured breaths increasing, becoming louder and more clear.

Luke pulled his head in closer, listening to the sound of Archer’s ragged pleasure. He closed his eyes, remembering how the night had progressed. Remembering how he had felt.

He stopped and quickly stood up. His hands found Archer’s back, turning him.

_Far away, a boy cried alone as the train left the station._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could have made this a lot smuttier.  
> I did make this a lot smuttier.  
> But it's first fic and all so would rather not.
> 
> Also please don't be mad about how this goes down. It's canon, s4 e2 The wind cries Mary.  
> (Albeit under different circumstances)
> 
> Anyway, catch y'all another time


	5. Chapter 5

Daylight broke in the room bitterly. Small yellow flakes of dust span and scintillated in the harsh luminance as they drifted through the air without purpose, scattering themselves in warmth of the room.

The shallow glare found Sterling’s face and forced him to shudder coldly, as though someone had walked over his grave. The eyes opened. With great effort Sterling squinted at the roof, reaching up to cup his dented skull in his hand. As soon as he made contact his hand recoiled as though bitten, and he hissed in air in through his teeth. The pain was intense, burning and furious. It slammed through his eyes and rattled down his spine.

He held his hand up again, this time in front of his face. Closing one eye he slowly moved his palm back and forth.

Judging his depth perception to be sufficiently destroyed he let out a long, breathy sigh. He used what little of his eyesight remained to note that from the light in the room it must be at least midday, and therefore he had been unconscious for seven hours or more. “Shit.”

He would be lucky not to be permanently brain damaged.

Luke stirred across from him, covered in a large black towel. Archer turned his head to look over, the pain almost unbearable.

His breath rasping, he called out to the body.

“Luke.”

The figure remained still. Archer’s voice was hoarse and full of liquid. He swallowed the bile and wheezed noisily. “Luke,”

The man on the other side of the room snapped round quickly, eyes wide.

“help.” Archer coughed, turning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

The sounds of frantic and panicked fumbling met Sterling’s ear.

“Jesus dude, I thought you were dead for sure.” Luke rushed.

“I might need you to put me there.” Archer reacted with effort.

“You look like shit.”

Archer nodded in agreement. A bad idea, but it hurt more to talk. He twisted his head back over to Luke, realising him to not be by his side yet. The figure stretched into odd shapes through his poor vision. Sterling frowned at the prospect that Luke wasn’t concerned for him, until the anamorphous black cloud once again became a man.

Luke walked over, an eyebrow raised.

“What?” Archer pressed.

“I don’t know man, I had a dead leg.”

“I’m figuratively dying here, and you’re worried about a dead leg. Ok.”

Luke didn’t even notice the joke, concentrating more on Archer’s face, trying to notice if he had seen the fact he had slept nude, and gauging whether he had perceived anything else. His silence caused Sterling’s sarcasm to hang in the air like a foul odour. He stood staring at the broken body before him, eyeing the dislocated shoulder with concern.

Archer broke first. “What’s the damage?”

“Looks like you’ve fractured the skull and popped the shoulder out,” Luke diagnosed.

“you’ve got eye haemorrhage pretty bad, fractured jaw maybe also, might have fractured your spine and hip as well. You’ll have to get surgery for most of it. Six months’ recovery at best. How you feeling?”

Archer groaned as Luke read off the list, realising the full extent of his injury. He stared in the direction that Luke had been talking from. That was a question that needed no response.

“Yeah, thought as much.” Luke nodded. His eyes flitted down to Archer’s exposed body. A faint trail of blood traced down his side, ending above his hip in a large blotch with five short stems. His heart stopped.

“How long until vision’s back?” Sterling probed.

Luke stifled his fear, stuttering out a joke to make him laugh “Fo- for this, maybe a couple of days at worst. For the Avengers, I don’t know he took quite the hit from Morgan Le Fay.”

“Who?”

Luke gaped at him in angry disbelief. Was he actually brain damaged in the fall, or had he always been this irritating?

“No, seriously, who?” Sterling tried again.

Luke shook his head, brushing it off. “It doesn’t matter, just get up and I’ll see what I can do.”

Archer strained to use his working arm to push himself into sitting, his movement was severely reduced by the extent of his pain. Luke put a hand on his shoulder and helped him into place. Using the opportunity to keenly inspect for any more evidence.

He noted another tell-tale imprint on each side of his hips and, and small blemishes of blood that had no reason being on his back. Luke sweated.

Archer hissed loudly as he reached what would have been a comfortable position, his hand rushing to his midriff, pushing out the loose buckle of his belt that had unceremoniously stabbed his gut. “Goddamn.”

Luke took a step back, thankful that Archer was almost blind. He searched the floor for the discarded green box. Sterling’s top lay not far away, rejected. He quietly fumbled for it. To his surprise the med kit lay open underneath it, hidden from view. He looked up to see if his friend had noted any of this.

Archer probed his ribs slowly, pushing softly with his forefinger against each until he was satisfied he had not broken any. He stopped in thought and then froze in horror. “Oh shit, the file.”

“I got it. Back pocket.” Luke seemed happy with this fact, as though expecting celebration for the brave act of picking up some paperwork.

“Oh, well, good. You’ll have to fill it out as well then as well. Do you think we can get it back by tonight?” Archer returned.

“Well you can’t, Helen Keller. And you left the window open, so yeah I’ll get it there.”

Archer nodded in thanks, but said nothing. This irritated Luke more than if he had simply remained silent, but he remained quiet for the meantime. Stoicism would always win out over having to argue with Sterling.

“Here.” Luke gave Archer a long damp piece of cloth, with which he wrapped around his limp arm and up to his shoulder. Holding in place the muscle.

“So just crack it in right?” Luke asked.

“Yeah, just do it.”

Luke purposely placed a hand on Archer’s collarbone, using a free finger to wipe away a mark of blood on his neck. The other went to his loose shoulder.

In one violent motion, he cracked them together, causing Sterling to jerk back and shout in pain. Luke retracted, guilty for having injured him further. He went back to the box in shame.

“Never get used to that.” Archer said, wincing as he shook the feeling back into his arm. He began to cradle it like an infant, nursing the life back.

Archer pushed himself to the edge of the bench, rolling his ankles lightly as he made effort to stand.

“You don’t want to do that,” Luke pointed out. “head injury.”

Archer rolled his bloodied eyes.

“Forget the doctor act, just help me do the paperwork then.”

Luke stopped looking for supplies in the box and fished awkwardly backwards to grab the file from his pocket. He unfolded it and sat on the bench next to Archer, who was patting himself on the legs looking for a pen.

By the time he realised he didn’t have one, Luke was already beginning to fill out the second question.

“Would this task have been made easier by having a partner?” Luke asked.

The campus clock chimed in the distance, signalling one o’clock. The sound bounced off the sports buildings and shook down the barren corridors, echoing into the locker rooms.

The defeated red brick walls clenched to the rims of the white windows as the panes shook with fear of breaking. The reverberation continued for too long, wandering the halls and making uncomfortable home in the ears of all in the vicinity. Even the trees seemed to jostle in the pressure of the brash noise, swaying unnaturally away. Fleeing the clamour of the campus until finally it lessened. The shaking stopped and everything held to attention solemnly once again, as though apologising for their mere existence.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while, sorry.  
> I've been a bit busy but I hope this is fine.  
> Not much happens but there are things in the pipeline so bear with me. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> Legitimately all I could think about for like a month is how these two met at training, and the fact that canonically everyone knew Lucas was gay.  
> This is gonna be fully written eventually, don't care if people don't read it or not, this is like detox tbh.
> 
> If you did read then well done, I love you.  
> ;) Hope you're having a fantastic day.


End file.
